


So Much Pain

by FabulaRasa



Category: DCU
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-10
Updated: 2013-12-10
Packaged: 2018-01-04 06:56:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1077934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FabulaRasa/pseuds/FabulaRasa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is shameless crack, based on <a href="http://darkknightswhiteknight.tumblr.com/post/69536192968/wesquick-literally-me-nightwing">this here</a>.</p><p>Written for <a href="http://darkknightswhiteknight.tumblr.com/">darkknightswhiteknight</a>, who laughed over it until she sobbed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Much Pain

Bruce's hand closed on the phone before its second buzz. "Yeah," he husked. 

"Bruce? You awake?" The tone of Dick's voice jerked him awake better than a shock of cold water. His eyes were open and his mind racing. It was the raw pain in Dick's voice that jolted him.

"Yeah," he said. "What's the matter."

"I don't know what to do." Dick's voice was a shattered thread of itself. 

"Tell me what's happening."

"I—I don't know. It's just. . . so much pain. I don't know what to do, Bruce. Tell me what to do."

Bruce was already sitting up, his legs swung over the bed, and he shut his eyes at the raw quaver of Dick's voice. He didn't need to be told what kind of pain Dick was talking about; he could hear it in the young man's voice, in every breathy inhalation through the phone. 

The miracle was, it hadn't happened before. For the dozen years he had known Dick, he had gone from angry, traumatized, smart-ass kid to confident, controlled. . . smart-ass adult. And every time you would expect Dick to have a breakdown, to just not be able to take it any more, he had held it together. The kid's resilience, his ability to take everything the world had to dish out and come back swinging, had astonished him from the first—had made him love him, the truth was, before he had even known that was going to happen, or had even been prepared for the Dick-sized hole in his heart when the kid moved out.

But at some point, everyone broke. "Everything just hurts," Dick whispered. "I hate my life. Please. . . please help me."

"Listen to me," Bruce said. "I know what you're feeling."

"You. . . do?"

"Yes," he said emphatically. "You think I don't wake up once a week feeling what you're feeling? And I know exactly how it happened, too."

"You. . . really? I mean. . . I guess, yeah, you are the Batman. It makes sense that you would know."

"Of course I do. But listen to me. You've got to push past the pain."

"I don't think I can."

"Yes, you can. I know you can. Dick, you're strong, you can."

"I just want to throw up."

Bruce put his head in his hands. This was hard enough in person, and next to impossible on the phone. He had never been the best at offering comfort—some sparring, a quick game of hoops, time together tinkering with the Batmobile, sure, he could do that. Talking about feelings was not exactly playing to his strengths. "You have to control the pain," he said. "You can't let it control you."

Beside him, Clark raised his head. "What's going on," he whispered. Bruce rested a hand on his back to quiet him. 

"I don't think I can do that," Dick said. "Oh God. God. Everything—everything hurts, Bruce. I don't think I can do this."

"Okay, hang on, I'm coming over." He calculated trajectory to his pants. He reached for a T shirt on the floor that wasn't his, but he could wear a jacket over it, it wouldn't be that obvious. 

"No, don't—don't do that. That won't help. I just—why, Bruce? Why did I do it? I don't understand, I thought it would be fun."

Bruce froze with his pants in his hand. Clark was sitting up, watching him with a frown on his face. "Thought it would be fun," Bruce repeated. What was Dick talking about? Thought being a superhero vigilante would be _fun_? Was he drunk? High? Thought _what_ would be fun?

"I didn't think it would hurt this bad. I really didn't. Jesus, I gotta go hurl. Sorry I woke you up." And then the click of the phone on his end. Bruce stared at the phone in his hand. 

"Bruce? What's going on?"

"I have no idea. But Dick's in trouble." 

Clark swung his legs over too, reaching for underwear. "Let's go."

* * *

Dick leaned his head against the cool tile of the bathroom wall. The wrenching pain in his gut was subsiding a little. He wiped a hand across his mouth.

"You moron," he moaned at his reflection in the toilet hinge. "What the hell were you thinking?"

He hauled himself to his feet and shuffled into the kitchen. He opened his cabinets and pulled out every box of cereal he could find, stuffing them all in the trash. "Fourteen fucking bowls of cereal," he muttered. "How mentally challenged can you get." He kicked the empty box of cornflakes across to the trash. The motion gave him another intestinal twinge, so he stumbled over to the sofa and collapsed on it with a groan, face first. 

It was hard to remember anything that had happened after bowl six. Good thing he'd been home the whole time, and hadn't done anything stupid, like call Barbara or Wally or. . . 

_Shit._


End file.
